


Over the rainbow

by bluevalentine69



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Bottom Merlin (Merlin), Boys In Love, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Hurt Merlin, Investigative Journalism, Lies, M/M, Marriage Counselling, Partner Betrayal, Relationship breakdown, Rimming, Secrets, Top Arthur, brief infidelity, hurt Arthur, relationship therapy, the course of true love never did run smooth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-01-11 05:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18423693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevalentine69/pseuds/bluevalentine69
Summary: Merlin and Arthur are married, and have been together for ten years. When life starts to pull them in different directions, they both make mistakes, and ultimately have to decide whether their relationship is still something worth fighting to save.With Merlin involved in a dangerous criminal investigation, there's more at stake than just their marriage ...





	1. Chapter 1

“Why aren’t we having sex?” Arthur asks after eating supper by himself in front of the TV for the millionth time, sitting himself at the wooden kitchen table across from Merlin. His husband and partner of ten years barely looks up from his laptop.

“Because I’m working,” he says shortly, eyes flicking to Arthur and then back to his screen, fingers flying over his keyboard, forehead creased with concentration. He’s surrounded by folders, newspaper cuttings, dossiers, handwritten notes, chocolate bar wrappers, his dark hair falling across his eyes in a way that makes Arthur’s groin _ache_. 

“It’s been a month,” Arthur persists.

“But who’s counting?” Merlin quips, still typing determinedly. Arthur leans forward and snaps the laptop closed. Merlin closes his eyes. “Arthur,” he breathes slowly, fighting to stay calm, “I’m working. It’s important. Don’t be a dick.” 

“And our relationship _isn’t_ important?” Arthur challenges, eyes narrowed. He leans forward, rubbing a hand across his face. “We’ve been together since our final year of uni. In all that time we’ve never gone for more than a few _days_ without fucking. We’ve also never been in place where you’ve stopped talking to me. I have _no_ idea what’s going on with you.” Merlin stares stubbornly at his laptop. “Merls,” Arthur murmurs, reaching across the table to take his husband’s hand. “What’s going on? I feel like you’re becoming a stranger. I don’t like it.” Merlin looks at Arthur impatiently. 

“I told you weeks ago there’s a story - a big story. Gwaine got a lead. I’m sorry I’m working all hours, but it’s really, really important. Like, internationally important. I _have_ to be on this right now.” Merlin’s a reporter for _Public Witness_ , a news journal that whistle-blows on corrupt companies and governments. 

“So was the Syria refugee story three years ago,” Arthur points out. “You told me every single day how it was shaping up. This time I know _nothing_ about what you’re working on.” 

“Because it’s a political atom bomb, and we have to keep the number of people who know _anything_ about it small.” 

“Since when have I been ‘people’?” 

“You _are_ people, you’re one of the major businessmen in the UK. All it would take is one off remark or an odd response to someone and the whole thing could be fucked.” 

“So you don’t trust me?” Merlin shrugs.

“I do trust you, but this is too important to take risks. I’m sorry.” 

“Right. But you can take risks with Gwaine?” Arthur’s getting angrier. 

“He knows what’s at stake.” 

“So would I, if you told me!” Merlin shakes his head again, fingers tapping his laptop lid. Arthur leans back tiredly. “Are you fucking him?” Merlin blinks in surprise, mouth falling open.

“Am I - _what_ \- no, of course I’m not fucking him!” he exclaims, really irritated now. 

“You’re suddenly with him 24/7 and our relationship has subsequently disintegrated, what am I supposed to think? You’ve never _ever_ not wanted me before.” Arthur’s voice breaks a little and he looks down quickly. Merlin sighs and gets up and walks round to Arthur’s side of the table, unzipping and shucking off his jeans and pants. He sits, lower half naked, on Arthur’s lap, and reaches to the dresser behind him to get out a bottle of lube they keep in one of the drawers. “What are you doing?” Arthur asks warily, as Merlin shoves it into his hands.

“Fuck me,” he says simply, tiredly, hands on Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur just looks at him. “Seriously,” Merlin says, “you’re right, we need to fuck. So fuck me.” Arthur looks at Merlin’s soft cock, the resignation on his face, the distraction in his eyes, and feels something break inside him. Sex has _never_ been a chore for them before. He stands up, Merlin sliding off his lap as he does so, and puts the lube back in the dresser, bending down to pick up Merlin’s clothes and handing them back to him. 

“Let’s not,” he says quietly, pushing Merlin away and leaving the kitchen. He goes back into their sitting room, where he’s been nursing a bottle of whisky, picks it up, and takes it up to bed with him, pouring himself another large dose as he opens his own laptop and catches up on personal emails. He hears the phone ringing and Merlin saying “Gwaine, hi …” before the kitchen door is closed, and all he can hear are hushed murmurs. He keeps drinking until midnight, sets his alarms, and goes to sleep.

 

He groans when he hears his alarm ringing, reaching over tiredly to turn it off. He settles back into his pillows for another five minutes, Merlin rolling over and plonking his head sleepily on the same pillow.

“Hi,” he whispers. Arthur ignores him. Merlin presses a kiss to Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about last night. Yesterday was shitty and a lot happened and I needed to get everything down whilst it was all fresh in my mind and I could see how the pieces were starting to fit together. I shouldn’t have been so …” he pauses to find the right words, lips on Arthur’s skin, “… I don’t know. Callous? The sex thing. It was bad of me.” Arthur keeps his eyes closed.

“Okay,” he says. “Thanks for explaining. What time did you get to bed?” He feels Merlin shrug, moving a hand to Arthur’s chest, fingers stroking above his heart.

“4-ish, I think? Only a couple of hours ago.” 

“You should try to get a few more hours,” he suggests. It feels weird, and _wrong_ , to be exchanging banal platitudes with the man who’d once desperately implored him _don’t go to sleep, I’ll miss you too much, keep talking, keep talking to me Arthur_. 

“I will,” Merlin says quietly. The silence resumes, Merlin’s fingers gently stroking Arthur’s belly. “I love you,” he whispers after a few moments. “Your question about Gwaine … you must know I’d never cheat on you, Arthur?” Arthur doesn’t reply to him. It doesn’t change anything. Merlin’s still keeping secrets and doesn’t seem to physically _need_ Arthur anymore. His heart feels like lead. “Arthur?” Merlin asks, propping himself on an elbow to look down at him, other hand now cupping his face. Arthur doesn’t respond. Merlin presses his forehead against Arthur’s. “Arthur, _please_ understand this isn’t about you, or us. I’ve been really distracted and busy recently, I know, but a few more weeks and the story should be done. We’re getting there, slowly.” _A few more weeks_? Arthur grimaces. Sighing, he sits up, enjoying the darkness of the morning, the last seconds of peace before the day begins. 

“Fine,” he says shortly, looking down at Merlin at last. “Do what you need to do, I guess.” Merlin’s face is pale in the black of the room. 

“Shall we try to spend some time together this weekend?” he asks cautiously. “I’ve got to go away, for a night or two, but I should be back on Saturday morning. I’ll try to take the day off.” 

“It’s Morgana’s birthday on Saturday,” Arthur reminds him, “we’re due to be in Kent for the weekend.” Merlin groans.

“Shit. I forgot.” 

“Seems to be happening a lot these days,” Arthur murmurs. “Don’t worry, I’ll make your excuses.” 

“No - no!” Merlin says hurriedly, thinking quickly. “No, I can be there, it’s your sister. I’ll come down for Saturday night, at least. I probably won’t be able to stay for your dad’s barbecue on Sunday though. I might need to go to Paris.” 

“Paris?” Arthur repeats flatly. “Right. Well I’m driving down on Friday evening. Let me know which train you’re on if you can make it and I’ll pick you up from the station, save you a taxi.” 

“Thanks,” Merlin says softly. Arthur nods and gets out of bed, heading for the shower. Merlin’s asleep again by the time he gets back.

 

*

 

_M: At station, getting the 11.03, should be in at 12.17 I think. Is it still ok to pick me up? M_

 

_A: I’ll be there. Hope trip went well. A_

 

_M: Thx. Did we get Morgs a pres? Should I pick up some booze? Or they have a place here that sells those fancy macaroons?_

 

_A: We got her a Cartier watch. I’m sure she’d appreciate macaroons too._

 

_M: Wow. *We’re* very generous. I love you X_

 

 

Arthur waits in his Audi outside the station, enjoying the sound of the rain pattering on the car. It’s a wet, cold spring day. Merlin’s been pretty much out of contact since their semi-argument on Wednesday night, just sending their traditional goodnight/love you texts, until his text messages came through an hour ago. Arthur feels sick that his husband is becoming someone he doesn’t know, heartsore and confused and fed up. He almost wishes Merlin _wasn’t_ coming, at least then he could relax for the weekend, distract himself with family. He’s contemplating more awkward, stilted, terrible conversation with a sense of dread, when Merlin’s train arrives. In spite of their current issues, his heart skips a beat, as it always has, when he sees the love of his life emerge onto the platform, scruffy and beautiful as always, blinking in the rain, canvas holdall in one hand and a big bouquet of flowers in the other. He toots his horn and Merlin jogs over. 

“God it’s miserable,” he greets Arthur, putting his stuff in the backseat, slamming the door closed, and then sliding into the front passenger seat, shivering a little and shaking the rain out of his hair. “Guess the garden party’s out?” Arthur puts the car in gear and pulls away, navigating the familiar route back to his father’s country house, soothed by the purple-grey sky, greenery, early blossoms, bluebells, all hazy in the shimmery silver rain. 

“You underestimate my sister,” Arthur replies. “There are marquees. Heated warm and full of flowers and picnic hampers of rugs and games and chocolate fountains and champagne pyramids. It’s very Gatsby.” 

“Never one for an understatement,” Merlin agrees with a small smile. He glances back at his own flowers. “I guess those are a bit redundant.” 

“They’re beautiful,” Arthur says truthfully. Merlin’s chosen a mix of hydrangeas, cala lilies, peonies, roses; all Morgana’s favourites. Merlin knows his sister well; she was seventeen when they met for the first time, three years Arthur’s junior, and she and Merlin had adored one another straight away. 

“Fitting for the recipient,” Merlin mumbles, looking out of the window, at the countryside so familiar to him, now, so much a second home, after his mum’s place in Wales. 

“How was the secret mission?” Arthur asks. Merlin twitches, infinitesimally, almost unnoticeable unless intimately acquainted with his body language, which - of course - Arthur is. “Difficult,” Arthur surmises. 

“Someone knows we’re poking,” Merlin says evasively. 

“Are you in danger?” Arthur asks, alarmed. Merlin’s silence speaks volumes. Arthur pulls over to the side of the country lane they’re on, and puts on the handbrake, leaving the engine running as he turns in his seat. “Enough, Merlin!” he almost shouts. “What the hell is going on? If you are about to be bumped off for poking your nose where it’s not wanted, I deserve to know!” He hits his steering wheel in frustration and the horn blares loudly in protest. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he complains to his car. 

“I’m not going to be ‘bumped off’,” Merlin protests. “You’ve been watching too many crime thrillers.” 

“Oh I’m _so_ sorry for being worried about my newly secretive and disinterested and avoidant husband,” Arthur snarks irritably. “I’m a monster. Bump _me_ off instead!” Merlin rolls his eyes.

“You’re a drama queen, not a monster,” he mutters, fiddling with the heated seat dials. 

“Merlin!” Arthur explodes. 

“We were followed,” Merlin says shortly. “We’re being watched. At worst we might get a professional cautionary, maybe. We’re upsetting influential people. It happens. I’m not going to _die_. Christ.” Arthur breathes through his nose, forcing himself to calm down, and puts the car back in gear, driving onwards. Merlin stares at him sadly, shoulders slumped. “Are we going to keep arguing?” he asks. “I wanted us to have a nice weekend together.”

“And what Merlin wants Merlin gets, right?” Arthur says waspishly. “Never mind what Arthur wants.” 

“Arthur, stop it,” Merlin pleads, putting a hand on his leg. “We can’t speak to each other like this. We love each other. Why are you so angry?” Arthur pulls over the car again. Thank god it’s a deserted road. He parks and turns to look at Merlin properly. 

“You clearly don’t know me as well as I thought you did,” he says quietly, voice dangerously controlled. “I’m not _angry_ , I’m _hurt_. You’ve shut me out, and I _desperately_ miss my husband. I miss being inside your mind, your body, close to you in all the ways we’ve always been close. It’s upsetting that you don’t feel the same.” 

“I haven’t ‘shut you out’ on purpose,” Merlin objects. “I don’t love you any less, or _want_ you any less, emotionally _or_ physically. I’ve just been too preoccupied with this investigation to feel horny. It’s a case that matters to me a lot, so I don’t want to jinx it. As soon as it’s done I’ll be 100% back and engaged again, I promise.” Merlin looks at Arthur seriously. “But this is an 8 to 12 week opportunity to do something _good_ that _makes a difference,_ in a relationship of 10 years and counting. Proportionally speaking, you get the vast majority of my life. Be reasonable. People married to soldiers spend months and months away from their partners for work reasons.” Arthur huffs in frustration, body deflating.

“I suppose you’re right,” he eventually concedes, albeit unwillingly. “I’m sorry. I miss you and I’m worried about you, but you’re right. I’ll try to be more supportive.” Merlin leans over and twists possessive fingers into his hair, pulling him close. 

“You are the most important part of my life,” he says gruffly. “But this is something I have to do.” Arthur nods.

“I get it,” he assents. “Whatever it is had better be brilliant.” Merlin grins at him, all dimples and shining eyes, and suddenly - in this moment, anyway - the door between their hearts and minds is back open, and he’s got Merlin in the same room as him at last. “It better be _safe_ as well though,” he whispers. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Merlin presses his lips against Arthur’s in promise.

 

“Merlin!” Morgana exclaims, rushing into the hall like an overexcited schoolchild, casual in leggings and a sweater and throwing herself into his arms. “Long time bro!” Merlin wraps one arm around her in an awkward hug, kissing her cheek. 

“Love the outfit,” he says drily, “are you trialling the ‘deconstructed’ look?” Morgana whacks his arm.

“Shut up, I’m hanging garlands. Are these for me?” Merlin looks at the flowers and nods, handing them to her. 

“Happy birthday.” He hands her a gift bag too. “Blooms and sugar are the prerequisites for women, I believe?” 

“Birthday bigotry,” Morgana nods, looking into the gift bag. “Macaroons!” she squeals. “My favourite - only if they’re pistachio though. Are they pistachio?” 

“The pink ones, right?” Merlin quips. Morgana laughs, opening the box. They’re all green pistachio. 

“I’ll eat them now. Come and help me hang leaves. I want more _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ and less _Stig of the Dump_.”

“A delicate balance,” Merlin agrees sagely, smiling at Arthur and following Morgana through the house. Arthur takes his holdall upstairs to their bedroom, and sits on the bed, feeling exhausted. He hears Merlin’s laugh outside the window and walks over to look down into the garden. His and Morgana’s cousin, Elena, is somehow wrapped in twine, and giggling helplessly on the ground as Merlin and Morgana’s friend Gwen try to unravel her. He aches to touch Merlin - to properly touch him. It’s never been something he’s thought about before, how much they touch each other. Holding hands, stroking arms, locking feet under the table, bumping shoulders, forehead kisses … and the bigger stuff too. Merlin sitting on his lap on the sofa. Cuddling in bed. He realises with another pang, it’s _all_ stopped. It’s not just the sex, it’s the _everything_. He’s never been uncertain about reaching out; it’s a thoughtless, subconscious thing, to touch his husband. But now? Arthur sighs, turning away. 

His eyes fall on Merlin’s holdall and his heart beats too loudly in the quiet room as he contemplates snooping. Checking that Merlin’s preoccupied with Morgana, he strides over to the bag before he can change his mind and goes about unzipping all the side pockets quickly. All the usual - chargers, headphones, a dog-eared paperback book, wash bag. Out of interest he has a quick look in that to see if Merlin packed lube or condoms, but it’s just shaving gel, a razor, a toothbrush. He opens the main compartment and rifles underneath the clothes, stomach in knots and incredulous that he’s invading his husband’s privacy like this, but something inside him jumps when he feels the sturdy outline of Merlin’s laptop case, and a cardboard folder beneath that. He extracts them hastily, reassured by Merlin’s voice still ringing from the garden. He flips open the laptop lid and waits impatiently for the login page to load. He types in Merlin’s password of ten years (an ironic ‘ _Pa55W0Rd!’_ ) and the screen jumps. _Incorrect password_ , the message informs him. Arthur stares at the screen, shocked that Merlin’s changed his password. Arthur’s the only one who knows it, so he’s locked Arthur out on purpose, in case of a moment like this, presumably. Clearly he _doesn’t_ trust him, whatever he says. Arthur recognises the hypocrisy of feeling annoyed about that when he is, in fact, trying to break into his partner’s computer, but still. He switches it off and puts it back in its case, carefully replacing it under all the clothes, and flicks open the cardboard file. It’s full of old newspaper clippings and grainy photocopies. _Pregnant Mexican woman jailed for drug smuggling. South American drug ring bust. Drug Lord_ _Rodríguez escapes prison sentence; disappears three days later._ _Columbian drug cartel European HQ found in Paris._ That stops Arthur … Merlin’s planning to go to Paris tomorrow? _French pharmaceutical company, ESY_ _Pharmaceutique, S.A. accused of drug smuggling and human trafficking_ … it’s endless. Arthur sits down. Jesus. The photocopies are of  company bank statements, accounting spreadsheets. Arthur scans down the various lists, but can’t make sense of any of it. BlueSky Investments plc. was rumoured to have made financial contributions to the UK government’s last election campaign, he knows that. One document seems to show them receiving monies from other offshore companies. TechInfinite, Inc. catches his eye. It’s a trading account used by his uncle Agravaine’s firm. What the fuck? Is Merlin investigating his _family_? He hears the back door slam and jumps, quickly putting the papers back in place and replacing the folder underneath the laptop, zipping up the bag and quietly stepping into the ensuite bathroom.

“Arthur?” he hears Merlin’s voice enter the bedroom. 

“In here,” he replies, switching on the tap and pretending to wash his hands. He returns to the room to find Merlin rifling in his holdall. “Lose something?” he asks casually.

“Phone charger,” Merlin grumbles, “battery’s dead.”

“Lefthand pocket,” Arthur says without thinking. Merlin looks up at him, brow furrowed. Arthur curses himself but keeps his face calm as he rolls his eyes.

“You _always_ put your charger in the lefthand pocket,” he says deftly. Merlin raises a questioning eyebrow, but unzips the pocket without comment and finds his charger.

“Thanks,” he says, plugging his phone in by the bedside table and then sitting cross-legged on the bed, as he switches it back on, looking down at the screen. Arthur comes and sits behind him, locking his arms around Merlin’s narrow body and kissing his neck, gently biting the soft skin between the base of his throat and his shoulder and licking the same place to soothe. His cock fills at once, and he moans quietly, the warm smell of _home_ invading his senses as he nuzzles Merlin’s hairline. 

“I need you,” he pleads under his breath, sliding a hand underneath Merlin’s shirt and across his taut stomach, down over his cock, rubbing through the material of his jeans. “Please?” Merlin puts his phone on the beside table and twists in Arthur’s arms to find his mouth, to kiss him. 

“I need you too,” he murmurs, and Arthur shudders as his tongue finally slides inside Merlin’s mouth again, tasting him, hungry for him, one hand holding his jaw in place as he melds their lips together, the other insistently rubbing Merlin’s crotch. Merlin begins to harden and Arthur groans, dangerously close to coming even from this limited contact. 

“Take off your clothes,” he whispers, pushing Merlin away as he strips quickly and leaves the bed to get his own wash bag from the bathroom, which does contain lube. Merlin’s lying naked on the bed when he returns, scrolling through a message on his phone. Arthur crawls over him, gently removing the device and putting it on the side table, lowering himself to kiss Merlin again, knees bracketing his body, hands running freely over his husband’s bare skin, between his thighs, under his knees, down his calves, over his arse, gently parting his cheeks and stroking down his hot crack, finger rubbing the tight pucker hidden there. 

“ _Arthur_ ,” Merlin whispers, letting his legs fall open invitingly and arching into Arthur’s touch. “Fuck me.” Arthur shakes his head.

“Not yet. We’re going to start with a nice, lazy 69,” he says, biting Merlin’s nipple hard and smiling as he arches. “You’re going to suck me and get my cock nice and wet for you whilst I lick you open and get your hole nice and wet and loose for me. Okay?” Merlin nods, pliant as Arthur manoeuvres them onto their sides, pushing Merlin’s head into his crotch and his cock into Merlin’s mouth, smiling as Merlin begins to suck obediently, hands squeezing Arthur’s firm arse. He pumps shallowly in and out of Merlin’s mouth for a while, fucking his face, his throat, biting his thigh as he lets Arthur use him, pinning his head in place with strong hands, stroking his hair. He knows that when Arthur’s feeling emotionally fragile, he needs control, and Merlin’s happy to relinquish his power when Arthur needs that from him. “So good,” Arthur praises him, nuzzling his own face between Merlin’s legs and sucking his hole, relishing Merlin’s gasping around his cock, his squirming. He tongue fucks him for a while, before picking up the lube and squeezing it all over Merlin’s crack. He knows Merlin will be tight, but he pushes three fingers into Merlin’s body, holding Merlin’s head in place so he has to moan around Arthur’s cock. “You can take it,” Arthur reassures him, “but I’m not going to prep you for long, and I’m going to fuck you hard, so you need to relax quickly for me, alright?” Merlin nods shakily, cock leaking for his lover. After a few minutes of stroking Merlin open, he pulls away from him and rolls him onto his back, legs splayed wide, thighs shiny with lube, hole open, cock hard and bobbing against his belly, breathing shallowly, heart beating fast against his ribs, eyes dark as he watches Arthur slick himself up and move over him, looking at Merlin for confirmation that he’s ready as he nudges his cockhead against his entrance. Merlin nods, hands in Arthur’s hair, eyes closing as Arthur pushes inside him, gripping Merlin’s hips roughly as he bottoms out. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Arthur breathes shakily, mindless with pleasure at having Merlin’s hot body squeezing his cock again. “God, Merls _,_ ” he chokes, pressing his head against Merlin’s ear as he withdraws and thrusts in again hard, Merlin gasping, back arching, fingers stroking Arthur’s neck reassuringly. Arthur can’t speak, can’t think, he just fucks in and out of Merlin again and again, taking him hard, biting his throat to stave off impending orgasm, barely hearing Merlin’s own bitten-off noises, the soft, pained _ah_ on every entry. He suddenly wants Merlin to _engage_ and he kisses him as he withdraws, sitting up and pulling Merlin into his lap in reverse cowgirl, back against his chest, arse sliding down over Arthur’s cock, impaling him. “Ride me,” Arthur commands, “slowly. Make yourself come.” Merlin dutifully begins to rock up and down on his knees, on and off Arthur’s cock, groaning every time he slides down, the spongy tip of Arthur’s cock nudging his prostate, and Arthur bites his shoulder. “Harder,” he requests, and Merlin lifts his body and brings it down with more force, the angle changing slightly so that Arthur goes even deeper. Merlin whimpers, head thudding back on Arthur’s shoulder, eyes closed, and Arthur feels the tension leave his husband’s body as he stops thinking at last, only conscious of his body and Arthur’s, desperately seeking pleasure as he fucks himself on Arthur’s cock, wetly mouthing at Arthur’s neck, thighs straining from being taken in this position. 

“I love you,” he moans quietly and Arthur kisses him, slowly.

“I love you more,” he whispers. 

Arthur lets Merlin move wavelike against him for some time, hands running all over his body, his cock, his nipples. Merlin’s rhythm stutters as he tires, so Arthur pushes him forwards onto his hands and knees and grips his waist as he fucks into him doggy-style, watching his cock stretch and slide in and out of Merlin’s hole with satisfaction. Merlin’s head is hanging between his arms, sweat starting to bead under his fringe of dark curls, and he doesn’t react at all when his phone buzzes with a new message, totally preoccupied with Arthur. Arthur rewards his focus by pushing him to lie flat on his belly, and picking up the pace until he’s pounding into him, relishing Merlin’s stifled keening into the sheets. Merlin suddenly stills with a gasp, body rigid as he comes, spasming, onto the duvet, cock untouched. Arthur follows, pumping his semen deep into Merlin, kissing his damp neck. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. Merlin smiles and lies quietly as Arthur kisses his sore hole, fucks his tongue into him, sucks come from his body. When Arthur’s eventually done, he rolls a boneless Merlin onto his back, his own semen smeared and drying crustily across his belly and thighs. “Good?” he asks tentatively, kissing Merlin’s chest. Merlin nods sleepily. 

“Obviously,” he smirks, allowing Arthur to play with his now limp cock, to slide his fingers in and out of Merlin’s used body. “We should wait a month between fucks more often.” 

“ _No_ ,” Arthur says firmly, and Merlin laughs, stroking his face.

“Are we better now?” he asks lightly. 

“Do you need to ask?” Merlin turns to his side to press their bodies together, kissing him as he slides a hand down between Arthur’s leg to give his cock a squeeze, shaking his head. 

“No,” he murmurs. “Of course it’s better. I shouldn’t have let us go without this for so long, it’s an important part of our relationship.” Arthur wraps his arms around him, holding him close, kissing his head tenderly.

“No matter how busy you are Merls, how little you can tell me about your work right now, I need us to at least have this closeness.” 

“Okay,” Merlin nods. “That’s our plan. Take what you need from me physically until this is over, to compensate for everything else I can’t give you right now. I’ll make time. I promise.” Arthur kisses him, pulling back to look at him properly. Merlin looks right back at him. 

“At the risk of upsetting our newfound accord,” Arthur starts, cupping Merlin’s face, “can I ask you a serious question?” Merlin raises an eyebrow.

“Is it the kids conversation again?” 

“No,” Arthur shakes his head. He knows nows not the time to breach _that_ particular disagreement. Merlin relaxes.

“What is it?” Arthur looks down, stroking Merlin’s arm, figuring out what to say without causing another blow up. 

“The story,” he asks slowly, looking up at Merlin again cautiously. “Does it have anything to do with my family? Is that why you’re keeping it secret from me?” Merlin lies very still, face beginning to shutter.

“Why would you ask that?” he asks suspiciously. Arthur shrugs.

“Because I’m a logical person, and logic tells me the only rational thing that you might feel uncomfortable talking to me about is a story about my family. We’re big players in the business and political worlds, and you write stories about corrupt businesses and politicians. Has one of my relatives done something bad? Am I implicated in some way?” Merlin stares at him hard, something conflicted in his expression. Eventually he shakes his head.

“Your family’s not the story,” he says firmly. Arthur holds his ground.

“I didn’t ask if it was _the_ story, I asked if might be _part_ of it?” Merlin rolls away, shutting down the conversation.

“No, Arthur,” he says, getting up and walking towards the bathroom. Arthur watches him close the door, heart thudding. He’s pretty sure that’s the first time Merlin’s ever lied to him.


	2. Chapter 2

 

A few weeks turns into a few months, and Arthur gets used to life without Merlin. He spends most of his time abroad, in unspecified locations, doing field research. The daily goodnight messages ceased quite early on; now Arthur just gets sporadic updates from him, checking in, letting Arthur know he’s alive. 

 

When he does return, every few weeks, he’s tired, quiet, withdrawn. He’s lost weight and has dark bags under his eyes; he tends to sleep for most of his time at home. Arthur’s stopped initiating sex, or conversation; it’s clearly not welcomed, and Arthur finds that it hurts less to just accept the situation for what it is, shut down, disconnect, disengage, rather than trying desperately to reach Merlin. They’re living separate lives, and in his bleaker moments, lying in an empty bed in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, he realises he won’t be able to continue like this indefinitely. It’s tearing him apart. Merlin’s been working on the story for nearly six months already; he’ll give his husband - his marriage - a year, but if nothing’s changed by then, he knows he’ll have to end this awful limbo and properly separate his life from Merlin’s, so he can live fully again, instead of being held in a constant state of _waiting_. He’s not ready to do that yet - some part of him still believes he and Merlin haven’t _broken_ \- but the longer his absence and silence continues, the bigger the chasm between them grows, and one day everything they’ve built will disintegrate beyond repair.

 

*

 

Arthur blinks open his eyes slowly, reaching out subconsciously for Merlin, as he always does when he wakes up, before remembering he’s not there. He leans over to check his phone and finds his home screen flashing with new messages. He flicks through them all - various well wishes and birthday greetings - and feels a hollow emptiness when there’s nothing from his husband. He and Merlin have spent their last ten birthdays together on an adventure somewhere; this time last year he woke up to Merlin giving him a blowjob on the beach in Barcelona, sand soft beneath his back, and Merlin’s strong fingers gripping his hips. Now, on his 32nd birthday, he doesn’t even know where Merlin is. 

 

His colleagues have made an effort. There are balloons in his office, and Mordred has arranged a cake and champagne at lunch. When his assistant suggests going out for birthday drinks after work, he only has to think of his empty house and bone-deep loneliness for a moment before agreeing. To his surprise, he finds himself having a great time; drinks flowing easily, the cheerful, enthusiastic, energetic young company a balm to his months of solitude, and whilst something in his head protests loudly that _it’s not right_ , he allows Mordred to grind against him in the club they’ve ended up in, caught up in the headiness of a warm, willing body. When Mordred slowly bites his neck, he ignores his guilt and pulls him closer, letting himself enjoy a moment of companionship, not thinking about tomorrow, or his increasingly uncertain future.

 

* 

 

Merlin has been on three back-to-back flights to get back from Bogotá for Arthur’s birthday. They’ve never spent it apart, and they’ve spent too much time apart recently. Merlin’s determined not to miss it, to celebrate his day with him properly - he hasn’t even messaged Arthur yet, hoping his arrival will surprise him. He’s exhausted and heartbroken at the things he’s seen over the last few months. Women and children being trafficked as sex slaves around the world, taken hostage by local drug rings, bought and paid for by powerful businessmen in global plcs, for either their - or their clients - entertainment. It’s highly likely that Arthur’s uncle Agravaine is a key player. He’s sick with revulsion at the web of criminality he and Gwaine inadvertently stumbled across, which seems to grow bigger and stickier and more complicated and dangerous every single day. He know he has to finish what he started, but as he stares at Arthur’s grinning face on his mobile lock screen, head pressed against the cold taxi window, his heart feels heavy, and all he wants is to quit and curl up with Arthur for the rest of his life. 

 

Their house is empty when he returns, as he expected; Arthur doesn’t usually get back from work until 7ish. He quickly showers, before heading out to their local shop to get balloons and the ingredients for a simple Italian supper, and a cake. He cooks everything when he gets home, and then decorates the sitting room, carefully wrapping his present (a piece of tribal art he’d found in Mexico, which he knows Arthur will love), to take central place on the birthday table. Once everything else is done, he sits cross-legged on the floor to write his card. It takes him a few moments to figure out what he wants to say, and then he starts writing. 

 

_Arthur,_

 

_My beautiful, strong, kind, patient husband, the best and most cherished part of my life, my first and only love._

 

_It’s been an awful year. I can’t tell you about it, not yet, and I hate not being able to share one of the worst and most painful experiences of my life with the only person I know can make it better. Please trust that it’s for the best, and that it’s to keep innocent people safe, you included._

 

_I love you with everything that I am, and wish you the happiest of birthdays. I owe you a birthday trip away; we must uphold tradition! Trust that next year will be different, please._

 

_I am yours for eternity, and nothing without you._

 

_Your human,_

_M xxxxx_

 

Merlin wipes his eyes, pooling with emotion, and seals the envelope, marking it ‘A’, with a kiss, and then lying on the floor, closing his eyes to wait for Arthur to get back.

 

*

 

It’s dark when he wakes up, groggy and disoriented. He checks his wristwatch and sees it’s 1am. _Fuck. Arthur_. He groans as he gets to his feet, padding through the house quietly until he gets to their bedroom, peering round the door. Their bed is empty. Merlin’s heart lurches in fear, and he scrambles for his phone, hitting the speed dial button for Arthur. It goes straight to his voicemail. He calls again and again and again, sitting on the hall floor shaking as he imagines the worst; someone getting to Arthur to shut him up. The tears fall freely as he listens to an endless ringing.

 

*

 

_Arthur? Are you ignoring me? I’m at home. I came back to surprise you on your birthday. Maybe you had plans or something, I didn’t think to check. Please can you call me when you get this? I just want to know you’re okay. I love you so much, Arthur. I hope you’re having fun xxx_

 

_Arthur, I’ve tried calling so many times, please let me know where you are, and that you’re safe, I’m really worried xxx_

 

_Arthur?_

 

_*_

 

Arthur is surprised to see Merlin’s dark head on the sofa when he gets home the next morning, curled into one corner, the woollen throw pulled over his shoulders. He looks down at his lover’s tired face, crumpled and strained, even in sleep. Merlin stirs at his presence, blinking his eyes open slowly. They widen when they register Arthur’s presence, and then suddenly Merlin scrambles up, pulling Arthur into a fierce hug.

“Oh thank god,” he mutters, crying into Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur wraps an arm around him, confused.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “When did you get back?” Merlin peels away from him, wiping his face.

“Didn’t you get my messages?” Arthur frowns and shakes his head.

“My phone died halfway through the evening. What messages?” He looks behind Merlin at the balloons, cake, burnt-down candles, present, and something on his face changes. “You came back for my birthday?” he whispers.

“Of _course_ I came back for your birthday,” Merlin says emphatically, arms still wrapped around Arthur. “I was so scared when you didn’t come home.” Arthur squeezes his arm, not meeting his eyes, stepping back from him to sit down, bending forwards to unlace his shoes. Merlin sits on the coffee table in front of him, leaning his elbows on his knees, looking at him questioningly. “Where were you Arthur?” he asks gravely. Arthur pulls his shoes off and leans back, closing his eyes.

“I stayed at Mordred’s,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know where you were, and I didn’t think you’d be here.” Merlin blinks away tears, understanding why. 

“Your assistant?” he asks quietly. Arthur nods, and Merlin suddenly notices the dark purple bruise underneath his collar. His grips the edge of the table, body seizing in shock, and he can’t breathe, brain short-circuiting and heart squeezing painfully. He feels a very strong urge to vomit, and slides to the floor, putting his head between his knees, and wrapping his arms over his neck. “ _Oh my god_ ,” he breathes against his legs, feeling his world collapse. He barely registers Arthur sitting beside him, trying to peel his arms away from his head.

“Nothing happened Merlin,” he hears Arthur saying tiredly, “I slept on his sofa.”

“Your neck says otherwise,” Merlin gasps, realising that he’s sobbing, and that Arthur’s holding him.

“I was drunk and lonely and got carried away in a club. I’m sorry. As soon as we left I stopped it. It didn’t mean anything.” Merlin raises red-rimmed eyes to look at him accusingly, his safe corner of the world suddenly gone.

“If I let someone suck bruises on to _my_ skin, would it mean something?” he croaks out. Arthur thinks of some faceless stranger touching Merlin, pressing their lips and teeth to his throat, and clenches his fists. He’d be horrified, heartbroken. 

“I’d hate it,” he says quietly. Merlin starts crying again and nods, anguished, as he stands up and leaves the room. Arthur follows him into their bedroom. “I’m sorry,” he says uselessly. 

“I’m just going to go,” Merlin says flatly, re-packing his half-unpacked bag from yesterday. 

“How’s that going to solve anything?” Arthur asks, angrily. “You’ve been gone for nearly a year! Don’t you think your absence has done enough damage to our relationship?” Merlin turns around to look at him, frozen.

“This is my fault is it?” he asks unblinkingly. 

“Well it would never have happened if you hadn’t fucked off out of my life without a backwards glance!” Arthur explodes. “Can you imagine, even for one moment, how _you’d_ feel if the situation was reversed? If I went off on a business trip for a year, and didn’t tell you where I was going, or who I’d be with, or what I’d have to do, or when I’d be coming back, without messaging more than once every ten days? Can you?” Arthur demands, irate. “Imagine how _you’d_ feel at home alone, day after day, night after night, wondering if the relationship you were clinging on to even still existed?” 

“You have no _idea_ what the last year’s been like for me,” Merlin hisses, voice shaking, and Arthur laughs without humour.

“You’re right, I have no idea. That’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? I have no, fucking idea.” Merlin sits down on the bed, putting his head in his hands as a sob shakes through him, heartbroken, sick with terror that he’s on the precipice of something final; if he walks out now, that’s it, he knows there’s no coming back. The idea that this might be the last time he sees Arthur like this … as his lover, his partner, overwhelms him until he can’t breathe. That in a few months, once the story’s done, when he comes back to pack up his half of their house, he’ll be the ex, a stranger. _This can’t be it_ , his heart is beating _, it can’t be. It’s Arthur._ He shakes his head, refusing to accept it, and finds Arthur sitting at his feet, on the floor, also crying. He slides off the bed until he’s sitting beside him and grips Arthur’s hand. 

“Do you love me?” he says urgently, forcing Arthur to look at him.

“Of course I do,” Arthur says, smiling sadly. “It wouldn’t hurt this much if I didn’t.” 

“Isn’t this worth fighting for?” Merlin demands, shaking his arm. “Would you really let me just pack a bag and walk away?” Arthur sniffs, tears falling down his face.

“I’ve been fighting to hold on to you for a year,” he whispers brokenly. “I’m so tired of fighting, Merls. You’ve been packing a bag and walking away with me asking you not to for months. It feels more and more permanent every time you leave.” Merlin stops crying, staring instead at his knees, hand still gripping Arthur’s. It takes a while, but eventually Arthur stops crying too. Merlin looks at him, unguarded, open, _his_ Merlin, his best friend of more than a decade, the only person he knows better than he knows himself.

“I don’t want this to be over,” Merlin says, suddenly calm and certain. “When we got married, I promised forever. I’m not going to be the one to walk away.” He looks down at his bare feet, curling his toes into the carpet. “I also see,” he continues, unable to look at Arthur, “that I’ve made you very unhappy, and I’m so sorry about that. If you think a life without me, with someone else, will be better for you than this life, then I’ll support your choice. I only want for you to be happy.” Arthur starts crying again, pulling Merlin close to him, burying his nose in his hair and breathing in his scent, knowing it might be the last time, physically feeling his heart tearing in two.

“I need a deadline,” Arthur says. Merlin lifts his chin to peer at him, brow furrowed. “For when you’ll be finished. If you can’t give me that …” he stops, unable to finish his sentence. _Then I can’t do this anymore_. Merlin considers him, face pale with grief. 

“Give me one more month,” he eventually says. “We’re so close - there’s one final piece of the puzzle we need, and then we can write the story and be done with it. I’ll take a sabbatical, we can see a marriage counsellor or whatever it takes. I need a month.” Arthur nods slowly.

“One more month,” he agrees heavily, clasping Merlin’s hand. 


	3. Chapter 3

**NEWS HEADLINES:**

**International whistle-blowing not-for-profit organisation _Public Witness_ , which publishes a news journal under the same name, today revealed the results of a year-long investigation into the crimes of American and European corporations funding South American and North African drug cartels and human trafficking rings, the endemic sexual exploitation of vulnerable women and children, and the use of criminally obtained financial capital to privately fund political campaigns internationally, ensuring protection at the highest levels of government across the globe.**

Investigative journalists Merlin Emrys-Pendragon and Gwaine O’Callaghan report.

*

 

Arthur finishes reading the article, dumbstruck, horrified, overwhelmed. It’s all over every news channel, on the front page of every newspaper. Political figures and senior business leaders are being arrested daily. Arthur’s uncle Agravaine has been taken in for questioning. It seems he has been money laundering; one of the many top financiers helping criminals to clean their money, taking their illegally-gained proceeds and legitimising it within the European banks.

It’s been four and a half weeks, as Merlin promised. He hasn’t seen or spoken to him in that time. Now he doesn’t know what to feel. Proud. Relieved. Impressed. Angry. Hurt. Merlin  _was_  investigating his family, and  _didn’t_ trust Arthur. Merlin texted him three days ago to tell him the story was about to break, that he was sorry for not telling Arthur about Agravaine’s involvement, and that he was going to go and stay with his mum for a week, to give Arthur some headspace before coming home, and seeing if there’s still a relationship to salvage.

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you any of this,” Morgana says, lying on the floor of their sitting room with a pile of newspapers around her.

“I know,” Arthur says tiredly.

“Do you think he suspected you were involved?”

“Probably,” Arthur replies, revolted at the thought Merlin could ever think so little of him.

“You know it says here Pendragon Pharmaceuticals is now being thoroughly looked into as well? Because of our family connection with Agravaine.”

“I know,” Arthur says again.

“Oh, Arthur,” Morgana says, coming over and sitting next to him on the sofa, and curling up beside him. He wraps an arm around her, numb. “Can you forgive him?” Arthur rests his head back and closes his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“Will you try?” Arthur doesn't know.

 

*

 

Arthur’s expecting him when he walks through the door, looking neater than Arthur’s ever seen him. He’s wearing an ironed shirt, hair carefully parted, and smoothed down. He looks up from his place at the kitchen table, answering more emails from his company’s lawyers, now they’re being hounded with Freedom of Information Requests in the wake of Merlin’s story. Merlin stops in the doorway, smiling nervously, unsure of his welcome.

“You look tidy,” Arthur comments, closing the lid of his laptop.

“Thought I’d make an effort,” Merlin says. “We got all dressed up for our wedding day, seems only fair to dress up for what might be the last day of our marriage, too.” He’s trying to be lighthearted, but Arthur sees his hollow cheekbones, the carefully controlled emotions that suggest he’s close to breaking.

“Did you think I was involved?” Arthur asks. Merlin shakes his head immediately.

“No, never.” Arthur knows he’s not lying.

“But you thought I might know about Agravaine? Or that I’d tip him off if I knew you suspected him?”

“Only inadvertently,” Merlin whispers. “I know how loyal you are. You’d have wanted to have given him the benefit of the doubt and tried to find out the truth, and perhaps have alerted him to the fact that people were looking. That might have put you in danger too.” Arthur accepts his explanation.

“How many women and children have been recovered?”

“More than three thousand, so far. They’re being helped by welfare charities.” Arthur nods.

“That’s good. You must be pleased.” Merlin looks down and comes to sit opposite him at the table. It’s a bizarre parody of the same relationship-salvaging conversation they had at the very same table a year ago, when Merlin was just starting his story, and he was the one with a laptop.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks quietly, pained, looking at him for an answer. Arthur’s still lost. He loves Merlin, but they’ve both changed, and their relationship has changed, and he doesn’t know who they are to each other now. It’s uncharted territory.

“I don’t know if we can fix this,” Arthur says honestly, and sees Merlin flinch in pain, biting his lip. “But I think we owe it to our younger selves to try, at least. Young Arthur couldn’t imagine a universe where he would even  _contemplate_  giving up on Young Merlin. For his sake, I’ll try.” Merlin smiles sadly.

“I still can’t imagine a universe where I’d contemplate giving up on you,” he mumbles tearfully. Arthur feels awful for making Merlin hurt, but he knows they’re going to have to be honest with each other about their feelings if they’re going to have any chance of surviving this.

 

*

 

Merlin moves back in. He sleeps in the same bed, but for the first few nights it’s as if there’s a wall between them. They don’t try to touch each other. Merlin’s on paid sabbatical from work, having worked solidly without a holiday for a year, but despite having more time to spend with Arthur, conversation is difficult when he gets back from work, given the legal and media scrutiny he’s now having to deal with as a result of Merlin’s article. Merlin doesn’t want to pour salt on an open wound. They haven’t mentioned Mordred. Merlin hasn’t asked if there have been others. Neither has Arthur. There’s a hostile labyrinth of questions and feelings and anger and pain to negotiate, and neither one of them has any idea how to begin. Merlin tentatively raises the idea of a relationship therapist again over supper one night, looking at Arthur imploringly, as though afraid of rebuke.

“We need to start somewhere,” he’d said. “I don’t know how else to begin.”

 

Which is how Arthur finds himself sitting in a panelled room, cosy in front of a roaring fire, Merlin sitting next to him, holding his hand. It’s certainly not the sterile environment he’d imagined.

“Misters Emrys-Pendragon, welcome!” A gruff old man with a grey beard and square glasses moves into the room, hair in a ponytail, glass of whisky in hand. Arthur raises his eyebrows. This is not what he was expecting. He feels Merlin smile beside him, and something inside him warms. It’s been a long time since they’ve had an unspoken shared joke. “Doctor Kilgarrah,” he introduces himself, sitting on the wingback armchair opposite, “can I offer you a drink? Something stronger than tea? I do find that alcohol helps my clients to relax.” Arthur shakes his head.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he says politely. Merlin simply shakes his head with a smile.

“So,” Kilgarrah claps his hands together, reading from his file. They’d both had to complete a pre-session questionnaire, answering questions about their relationship, and their current feelings towards it, and each other. “You’ve been together eleven years now?” They nod. “Since university?” They nod again. He looks up with a smile. “How did you meet?” Merlin glances at Arthur, staring resolutely at the floor.

“Um,” he says, watching Arthur’s ears go red, “we sort of, um, well Arthur, er, he um. Introduced himself to me, I guess. At our college JCR karaoke party. We were at Oxford.” Kilgarrah gives Arthur a beady gaze.

“And what does your husband mean by ‘introduced’?” Arthur rolls his eyes, refusing to play whatever game Kilgarrah’s playing.

“He was playing strip poker and as soon as he’d got down to his underpants I decided that nobody but me was seeing anything else. I blew him in the loo and dragged him upstairs to bed.”

“Arthur!” Merlin chastises him, blushing furiously. He turns to Kilgarrah. “Sorry, he’s not usually so crass.”

“Not at all dear boy, I asked after all, and we’ll make no progress without honesty.” He looks at Merlin, as if to say  _your turn_. “Would you say that your relationship with Arthur has always been very physical, given its foundations?” Merlin glances at Arthur again, still staring stonily at the floor. He nods, squeezing Arthur’s hand.

“Yes,” he says, “before this year, very much so.”

“What changed?” Merlin looks at his lap.

“Me, I guess?” he replies. Kilgarrah tilts his head to one side, questioningly. “For me, sex with Arthur has never just been about his body. I’ve always felt close to him mentally and emotionally, and what we did in bed, or wherever, was an extension of that.” He pauses to look at Arthur, who’s turned to look at him at last. He turns back to Kilgarrah, feeling too exposed, showing Arthur his face. “When I found out his uncle’s company was potentially implicated in our investigation, and that I might jeopardise  _everything_ by telling Arthur, I knew I’d have to keep it all a secret. That I’d have to shut down the open line of communication that’s always existed between us. I suppose when I shut off that part of myself, everything else felt unnatural too. I found it impossible to emotionally connect with Arthur sexually when I had emotional barriers up, and I didn’t want to have sex without emotion.”

“You could have told me that,” Arthur says. “You stopped telling me  _anything_. It wasn’t just the story. You stopped talking to me  _completely_. And touching me. Physicality isn’t just sex Merlin, it’s kissing, and hand-holding, and sitting on the same sofa. You took away  _everything_  that made us ‘us’.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he says sadly.

“Do you love Merlin, Arthur?” Kilgarrah asks, having been observing their interaction. Arthur nods.

“Very much.”

“Why?” Arthur looks at Merlin, at the small birthmark under his left ear.

“He’s my family,” he says simply. “He feels like home.” Merlin wipes his free hand across his eyes. Kilgarrah makes some notes and then closes his file.

“You don’t need therapy,” he says candidly. Both Merlin and Arthur look at him with identical expressions of surprise. He shrugs, “You’re obviously both very much in love. Far more than most couples who’ve been together for more than a decade and recently emerged from a year of secrets, betrayal and infidelity. I highly doubt either of you could walk away from the other. You’re both in pain, and the only way for you to heal that, is with touch. Your relationship is deeply physical, and there’s been an absence of physicality, sensuality, sexuality in your relationship for many months. That’s the barrier between you. _Clothes_. Take them off when you get home. Have a shower together, or a bath, wash away the pain with water.”

“Your prescription is a  _bath_?” Arthur repeats incredulously. Kilgarrah raises an imperious eyebrow at him.

“My prescription is nudity and touch. Everything else will fall back into place very quickly.”

“I see,” Arthur says dismissively, “thank you for your time.” He gets up and Merlin thanks Kilgarrah hurriedly, following Arthur.

They don’t speak on the way home, and Arthur goes straight for the kitchen once they’re back, pouring himself a large glass of wine.

“Complete charlatan,” he mutters, “total waste of time.” Merlin stands beside him, one hand on the counter.

“I want to try,” he says softly, eyes pleading. Arthur raises his eyebrow. Merlin holds his gaze as he pulls off his jumper. Arthur stares at him silently, wanting to flee, but frozen in place. Next Merlin toes off his trainers, and unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down, pulling down his boxers at the same time. He steps out of them, and removes his socks, and stands completely naked in front of Arthur. Arthur looks at Merlin for the first time in a year. Properly _looks_. At his lithe, slender body, firm muscles, sparse scattering of dark hair, his concave belly, his long cock. Hunger and urgency and need hit him like a freight train, and he steps forwards and pulls Merlin to him, both hands wrapped around his back, leaning down to press kisses along his collarbone.

“You’re supposed to be naked too,” Merlin gasps, tugging at Arthur’s shirt, and Arthur impatiently steps back and sheds his clothing, until he too, is exposed. Merlin moans quietly and Arthur closes the distance between them, sighing in relief as their skin makes contact, groaning at the feel of Merlin hardening against his thigh, and cupping his face tenderly he leans in to kiss him, softly, hungrily, tongue tangling with Merlin’s. He thinks perhaps they’re both crying, because their faces are wet, but they keep kissing, desperately holding each other, pushing their bodies together and kissing and kissing until they can’t breathe, stopping abruptly and pressing their foreheads together in shaky relief, arms wrapped around each other. 

“I love you,” Merlin whispers wetly against Arthur’s neck. Arthur squeezes him, terrified that they nearly lost this, tenderly kissing his shoulder.

“I love you,” he kisses into Merlin’s skin. Merlin slides two slender hands around his face and brings it up to look at him.

“Come to bed with me,” he breathes imploringly, eyes shining and hopeful. Arthur nods, twining his fingers through Merlin’s, and leading the way through the flat to their bedroom. As soon as the door closes, Merlin pulls Arthur down to the bed on top of him, opening his thighs and cradling Arthur between them, fingers carding through his hair, arching up into and against Arthur and kissing him like a starving man. He moans as Arthur’s hand grips him, stroking him roughly, sliding back and parting his cheeks, rubbing his dry hole. “ _Yes_ ,” he gasps, “ _god, yes_.” Arthur pulls away to extract an old bottle of lube from the bedside table, one that hasn’t been used in months, and feels strange as he looks at it, unwanted thoughts invading his mind. “Arthur?” Merlin enquires quietly, hand gently tilting Arthur’s chin up to look at him, eyes warm, confused, concerned. It brings him back. 

“Should I - I mean, do we -” he stops to clear his throat, looking down. “Do we need to … use anything?” Merlin strokes his cheek, under his eyes with his thumb.

“I don’t know. Do we?” he asks quietly, fingers sliding down to rub the spot where the mark of Mordred’s kiss lay. Arthur looks up at his husband, blue eyes filled with understanding and forgiveness. Arthur shakes his head.

“I told you nothing happened,” he says gravely. “I would never lie to you. It’s only been you since Oxford.” Merlin lets out a breath, a shadow of a smile flickering across his face.

“Same for me,” he says simply, honestly. Some tension Arthur didn’t realise he’d been carrying suddenly falls away, and his whole body lightens in relief. He kisses Merlin’s hip, and licks his way down Merlin’s happy trail until he’s sucking him into his mouth, gently opening him with slippery, lube-covered fingers. When he eventually slides inside Merlin, they both groan in relief, two pieces of a puzzle finally fitting back together again, locking together in the way they should. Merlin wraps his legs around Arthur’s waist and Arthur kisses him as he makes love to him, squeezing more lube onto his stomach to stroke his cock, grunting as he feels the familiar coil of tension tightening deep inside him, dropping down to his elbows, belly to belly with Merlin as they rut together frantically, biting, whispering love, hands in hair, fingers gripping to bruise, until Arthur shudders, pouring his release into Merlin and Merlin arches at the same time, crying as he comes between their stomachs. Arthur keeps his eyes closed, allowing his heart rate to return to normal, his breathing to calm down, before sliding out, rolling to his side, and pulling Merlin into his arms, legs entwined. 

“God, Merlin,” he mutters, anguished, and Merlin holds him close, feeling it too - the disbelief that they nearly forgot how to be together like this, to love each other like this. 

“I’m so sorry,” Merlin whispers. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t _ever_ lie to me again,” Arthur chastises him, angrily kissing Merlin’s temples, his nose, his chin. “Or keep secrets from me. Or disappear without taking me too. _Ever._ ” 

“I promise I won’t,” Merlin vows seriously, kissing Arthur in apology. “I won’t ever let this happen again, I swear.” He feels Arthur sigh and pulls him closer. “I _swear_ ,” he whispers again fiercely, crying out as Arthur begins to suck hot kisses down his neck.

They stay entwined for hours, kissing and stroking and reassuring and remembering how to just _be_ , sometimes in silence, sometimes saying things that need to be said. It’s painful but necessary, and wrapped together, _working_ at this together, soothes them both, begins to heal the tears in their hearts. They can both feel the distance between them shrinking, shuddering as they’re brought closer and closer together again, back to one another, back home at last. 

As the dawn light breaks, and Arthur moves inside Merlin, his back to Arthur’s chest and Arthur’s strong arms wrapped around him, Merlin closes his eyes and lets the euphoria of being in love, and being held, and being _wanted_ , and being safe rush through him until he’s spurting his relief into Arthur’s firm grip. Arthur follows shortly after and nuzzles the sweaty nape of Merlin’s neck, tired, and utterly at peace. 

“Love you for always,” he whispers, smiling into Merlin’s neck as he feels Merlin’s responding grin, both of them remembering the inscription on their wedding cake. Merlin twists in his arms, sleepy but shining with happiness.

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?” he whispers back. Arthur throws his head back and laughs.

“Are you quoting _Pooh Bear_ at me again?” 

“He has a quote for every occasion,” Merlin explains reasonably, closing his eyes and snuggling his head into Arthur’s chest. He huffs and sits up a minute later. “This is gross. We’re gross. My ear is literally sticking to you with come-and-sweat-glue.” Arthur wrinkles his nose distastefully.

“Yeah but … _sleep_ ,” he counter-argues convincingly. Merlin looks down at their sticky bellies and smiles wryly.

“Kilgarrah _did_ prescribe us a bath …” he reasons, and giggles as  Arthur laughs and lifts him up fireman-style, carrying him gallantly into their bathroom.

 

In a panelled bedroom across town, an old man turns in his sleep, smiling. 

*

The End


End file.
